


(This is) The Rhythm of the Night

by exeterlinden



Category: Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exeterlinden/pseuds/exeterlinden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thursday night. They're in Babylon, drunk off their tits on the dance floor, and it's fucking fantastic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(This is) The Rhythm of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://xof.livejournal.com/profile)[**xof**](http://xof.livejournal.com/) for the 2008 [yuletide ](http://yuletidetreasure.org/)fic exchange. Big thanks to [](http://ceares.livejournal.com/profile)[** ceares**](http://ceares.livejournal.com/) for betaing!

Thursday night. They're in Babylon, drunk off their tits on the dance floor, and it's fucking fantastic.

Stuart doesn't even care about copping off tonight. He and Vince had a bit of E to start off with, and he's in love with everyone in Babylon, grinding up against their sweaty bodies. The soles of his feet are tingling, his dick is half hard, and every time he looks up from his own arms and hands twisting in front of him, he sees Vince, with his eyes closed and biting his lip, sweating something fierce in his shiny satin shirt. Whenever he catches Vince's eyes, Vince throws his head back and laughs mindlessly.

He doesn't know how long they've been on the dance floor. Once in a while they push through the crowd of hot, writhing bodies to get to the bar, where they knock back half litre bottles of water and chilled sweet drinks. Nathan, the little ponce, is hanging out in the bar, making eyes at them. In the end they go outside for a bit, to catch their breath, and for Vince to have fag. After five minutes Stuart's pacing, restless, dying to get back inside, to dance some more.

"Look at you, prancing about."

He shakes himself from head to toe, feels every nerve vibrating with energy. "I don't know how you can stand still." He turns on his heel to look at Vince who is leaning against the brick walk, flattening himself against it, like he's trying to absorb the cold from it. He's steaming, vapour coming off his chest, his hair.

Stuart should be cold but he's not. He feel's warm all over, and fucking horny. Horny and happy. Vince is back - and Cameron is gone - and everything in Stuart's world is as it should be.

It feels funny when he walks, like he's walking on the tips of his toes. Like he's just about to lift off, except his toes are sticking to the pavement. It must look ridiculous, or maybe it just feels ridiculous, because Vince isn't laughing at him at all. He's doing that thing he does sometimes, where he sucks on his cigarette - hollowing his cheeks out - and looks at Stuart like he's the fucking gay Messiah. He reminds Stuart of a marvelously camp James Dean.

It usually makes Stuart a bit weak in the knees, but tonight he's high and honest, and so he tip-toes over and flicks the cigarette out of Vince's hands, kisses Vince good and hard, pressing into the furnace heat of him. He places his hands on the wall on either side of Vince, scrapes his palms against the cold brick while he searches out Vince's hot and bitter mouth, bites his jaw for good measure.

Vince kisses him like usually does, thoroughly, slowly and too bloody friendly, the _sixteen years of friendship_ kiss. Which is not what Stuart is looking for tonight, he realises, so he presses himself hard against Vince.

Vince has a nice body. Although he claims he doesn't like muscles, he's packing some, himself: nice chest, nice thighs, nice hard-on lined up against Stuart's through one pair of boxers and two pairs of thin trousers, fucking _fantastic_.

"Oy, Stuart!" Vince twists away from him, laughing embarrassedly. "No fair, man, you know I haven't copped off since Cameron."

That's a lie. Stuart knows that Vince let Billy Dighton blow him in the rest room in Flesh, two weeks back on a Friday. Anyway he doesn't want to think about Cameron ever again, which he tells Vince while he pouts prettily.

"Hey, you don't get to be jealous. You're not my boyfriend, now are you?" Vince pushes him off, all reasonable sounding, smiling a little bit. They go back inside.

\---

Stuart's on the podium, having a break and a beer - his feet and hands beating out the rhythm in double time against the railing - when he sees bloody Billy Dighton, moving in from the left towards where Vince is dancing. He squeezes his glass of lukewarm beer, feeling unsettled, and then he has a beautiful beer-and-ecstasy epiphany: _he does_. He totally _does_ get to be jealous.

Fortune favours the bold. He cuts off Billy smoothly, moving in quickly while Billy's hesitating, gathering up courage.

Vince gives him a blinding smile. The dance floor is absolutely packed by now. Stuart uses that as an excuse to grind up against Vince to the beat of the music. After a little while he puts his hands on his chest, lets them slide around to grab his arse. Vince goes with it, not suspecting anything - not yet - not even when Stuart licks a long stripe from his collarbone to his jaw.

Vince just leans in a little, still dancing, laughingly shouting, "What are you like?" into his ear.

So Stuart does it again, and then he moves in closer for more friction, slides his fingers up the back of Vince's shirt to his sweat-slicked back. He splays his hands across the muscles working, pushes his hips against Vince's.

Amazing. The best sex Stuart's had in a long time, and they're not even _having sex_ yet.

A guy bumps into them hard, separating them a bit, and Stuart sees that Vince's eyes are wide and surprised now.

"Stuart." he stutters.

But Stuart's got his eyes on the target, now. When they're pushed back together, he puts his hands on Vince's sides, thumbs beneath his trousers, rubbing over his hipbones. He leans in for a kiss, which Vince reciprocates hesitatingly, before he pushes away.

"Stuart, come on."

"Coward" Stuart teases, licking the flushed shell of Vince's ear, and then he kisses him again, mouth open and tongue teasing. He can feel Vince giving up in increments, handing himself over, and it's such a power trip that Stuart could probably get off on that alone.

Stuart unbuttons his own shirt one-handedly, lets it fall open to shield them a little, and then he opens Vince's trousers and slides his hand into his boxers. He slings his arm around Vince's neck to keep him close while he jerks him off, alternating his pace and pressing his thigh up between Vince's.

He can feel Vince struggling to keep it together, gasping and swallowing convulsively against his mouth. _God_, he's such an amateur, and Stuart fucking loves him for it.

He's laughing when Vince comes. Vince is gasping inaudibly, hiding his face against Stuart's shoulder. He hangs on him heavily and pants while Stuart wipes his hand off against Vince's sweaty skin and does his pants back up. Stuart leaves his own shirt open. He's laughing his head off the whole time - it's bubbling out of him.

He feels like this is the fucking kinkiest thing he's ever done - like seducing a virgin, only better - and he's a bent Leo DiCaprio, king of the fucking world.

... Except for how Vince pulls away when Stuart grabs his hand and places it over his own raging hard-on, and except for the way Vince looks up at him - unhappy, or angry, or freaked out or something - before he pushes past him, walking away.

Stuart follows quickly. He passes Nathan by the bar, and Nathan's gaping, like he can't believe what he probably just saw (because Nathan's always looking at Stuart, the little pervert).

He finds Vince in the restroom, swabbing his stomach down with paper towels. Stuart leans against the door jamb, watching.

"Thanks a lot." Vince doesn't even look up.

"You're welcome." Stuart answers, ignoring the sarcasm.

"I've always dreamt of public exposure."

"You did seem pretty happy about it just now." Stuart deadpans.

"Yeah, I'm chuffed to bits. _And_ I'm covered in spunk." Vince grimaces and throws the paper towels in the bin. He's still not looking at Stuart.

Stuart steps closer. "Coward." he says, softly.

Vince looks up at him sharply. "Stop saying that. I'm not. It's just, I can't do this with you, all right - I can't -"

"You got it wrong. You got it wrong before, I _do_ get to be jealous." Stuart rushes, overriding whatever Vince was going to say.

"Yeah?" flash of hope, but then Vince shakes his head dismissively. "You're high."

"I'm honest." Stuart stands still and lets Vince search his face, lets him see how dead fucking serious he is, lets him make up his mind.

"Stuart Alan Jones." Vince says finally, sounding like he's stuck somewhere between exasperation and affection, but then his face changes - turning intense - and he's up in Stuarts's personal space, dragging him by the shirt lapels into one of the toilet stalls.

"Ooh, aggressive, I like that." Stuart's grinning again, he can't help it.

"Shut up." Vince says, and then he slams the door closed and pushes Stuart up against it.


End file.
